


Yours to Break (but Always Mend)

by CouldntBeDamned



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftercare, Bondage and Discipline, Dom/sub, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, No Smut, Non-Sexual Spanking, Non-Sexual Submission, Peter Parker is 18, Spanking, Stephen Strange Believes in Aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:31:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22904734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CouldntBeDamned/pseuds/CouldntBeDamned
Summary: Peter’s tears had long since stopped, replaced by weak, hitched sobs sometime after what might have been the sixth or seventh blow.  He couldn’t remember why snapping back at Stephen like a brat had seemed like a good idea.  He couldn’t remember why breaking the rules in the first place - starting all of this - had seemed like a good idea.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Stephen Strange
Comments: 14
Kudos: 155





	Yours to Break (but Always Mend)

**Yours to Break (but Always Mend)**

* * *

_  
SMACK!_ _THWACK!_ _SMACK!_ _THWACK!_

With each slap of palm to ass, Peter cried out. He was held still - strung up with sparkling golden bonds, unable to twist, unable to squirm, and unable to bring himself any relief from the punishment Stephen was currently meting out.

“So, what have we learned?” Stephen asked, infuriatingly calm. Even though Peter was blindfolded, he’d stayed behind Peter the entire time. “Hmm?”

“That you’re a fucking dick!” Peter said, sneering through his tears, uncaring that his blindfold was nearly soaked. “A controlling, grade-A, asshole dick!”

“Ah,” Stephen said lightly. “The answer is ‘nothing at all,’ then.”

There was the sound of something slicing the air and with a loud _CRACK!_ Peter felt searing pain on his ass, and he _screamed_.

“Don’t worry, Peter. We have nothing but time for you to figure it out.” Stephen stepped in front of him and raised the blindfold. His face was impassive, blue-green eyes revealing nothing. Peter hated that Stephen could be so difficult to read when the man could read Peter down to his soul with a mere glance. 

Stephen lifted up a wooden paddle, shiny and dark brown with a series of three holes drilled through. “I’m rather fond of this one; it has quite the sting to it, along with leaving the most beautiful bruises.”

Peter studied the paddle with watery eyes. No wonder his ass was on fire. And while Stephen’s hands would wear out, Peter knew that magic would keep his grip sure while wielding the instrument.

“Let’s start with twenty, shall we?” Stephen asked rhetorically. Peter knew he’d screwed up to the point where he didn’t get input on the number.

Stephen spelled Peter’s blindfold dry and lowered it back into place. Peter breathed deeply as his vision went dark again. Stephen moved behind Peter and tapped the paddle against the side of Peter’s thigh gently before taking a step back.

Peter’s usual spider-sense was dulled with the blindfold. He didn’t know exactly where behind him Stephen stood. He couldn’t sense when a blow would land or from what direction. All he could do was hang and wait.

The pain, though? That wasn’t dulled in the slightest. Each slap of holed wood against his ass and the backs of his thighs stung before bleeding into a throbbing sort of pain. The few times the paddle made contact with his sit-spot was torture, sharp and vicious. He had the vaguest idea of how many were left, but when it came to punishments like these, Stephen was never consistent with his timing. What felt like hours could have passed between one landing and the next.

Peter’s tears had long since stopped, replaced by weak, hitched sobs sometime after what might have been the sixth or seventh blow. He couldn’t remember why snapping back at Stephen like a brat had seemed like a good idea. He couldn’t remember why breaking the rules in the first place - starting all of this - had seemed like a good idea. He just wanted it to stop; his entire backside was in agony.

“P-p-please,” he sobbed out. “I-I-I’m s-sorry!”

“Well then,” Stephen said gently, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “Why are you sorry, Peter?”

Peter struggled to find his words. He twisted his hands - the most he was really able to move and fought to get the words out. A not-so-soft _thwack_ of the paddle against his hip had him yelping. “I’m waiting, Peter,” Stephen reminded him. The hand moved to squeeze gently at the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry because I d-didn’t tell you where I was going to patrol last n-night.” It was hard to get out, but he managed, keeping his voice mostly steady. The brief respite he was getting was everything, even if it meant he had to think about what he’d done. 

_Sneaking about the Sanctum - his second home - like Stephen would actually stop him, rather than just ask him to be careful and be home by midnight, as always._

“And why should you have told me?”

“Because you need to know where I am, in case of emergencies.” Peter’s voice was quiet now, raspy and tinged with shame. 

_He’s disgusted with himself for coming home at nearly four in the morning, bleeding and bruised, for the fear and worry he’d caused Stephen. There’d been so many missed calls and unanswered texts on his phone._

“And why would I need to know that?” Stephen asked. He squeezed again.

It was the most infuriating and, somehow, wonderful thing, Peter thought. Stephen always took the time to make sure that Peter _thoroughly_ understood just exactly why he was being punished. “Because I promised you that I would let you take care of me,” Peter slowly answered, putting it together. 

_Stephen had held him close when he’d gotten home, then tended to Peter’s healing injuries and made sure that Peter would be okay. Even so disappointed in and angry with Peter, Stephen had taken care of him._

“And so, Peter, I’ll ask again. What have you learned?”

Head hanging, Peter sobbed. “To keep my word.”

There came three more thwacks of the paddle, each harder than the last. “Good Boy.” 

And then he was being lowered and he was on a bed, soft and comforting. Stephen was holding his shaking body close, whispering soothing things to him and telling Peter how good he was, how much he loved him. He gently removed the blindfold, peppered Peter’s tear-streaked face with kisses. He massaged Peter’s arms and wrists, even if the magic bindings left no marks or lasting discomfort. Stephen handled Peter as if he was the most precious and important thing in the world.

When Peter’s quiet crying had stopped and he felt floaty with relief that it was over, that he and Stephen were _okay_ , that he was forgiven, Stephen brought a bottle of water to his lips. “You need water, Darling.” He was patient as Peter drank half the water, pulling it away if he started gulping too fast and giving Peter the chance to catch his breath. Then he hand-fed Peter pieces of sliced banana topped with peanut butter, murmuring lowly to him the whole time.

“Do you feel up to a bath or would you like to cuddle for a bit longer?” Stephen asked when Peter was done eating, setting the plate aside and ensuring Peter drank the rest of the water.

“Cuddles in the bath,” Peter answered, leaning against him heavily, exhausted. He’s always sort of useless after a punishment, but he doesn’t mind.

“Of course,” Stephen agreed. He picked up Peter, ignoring his protests at the action. “You were just punished for the better part of an hour, Peter. Let me spend the rest of the day adoring you.”

“Okay,” Peter said with a yawn. “Okay. But there has to be cuddles. And something to help the burning on my ass.”

“Absolutely,” Stephen promised before kissing him. “Whatever you need from me, Peter, I’m yours. Always.”

Peter kept his word, let Stephen take care of him. By the time Stephen finished adoring him, as he’d put it, the pain was gone, and Peter felt completely at peace with himself, whole and good. 

Peter felt stronger, lighter, secure in the knowledge that if he fell, Stephen would always take care of him. He was freed in knowing that Stephen would always protect him, even if it was from Peter himself. He allowed Stephen to break him down, because he trusted that Stephen would always, always piece him back together again. 

**Author's Note:**

> So. Fun fact about me: When I get really stressed, I like to take it out on Peter's ass. And because I rarely see the point in keeping Peter (and therefore, myself) miserable, I had Stephen make it better.


End file.
